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Bossa held the butt of his MP5 to his shoulder, staring intently through the scope fixed atop it. The attack on Hereford was unprecedented, and tensions were high as Rainbow and Nighthaven scrambled to muster personnel. Sounds of chaos echoed off the walls, reverberating in his ears, compelling the same nauseating anxiety he’d felt in his stomach both times he’d been boots on the ground before.
Only this time there was no Trip to ground him in reality. Shrike crouched beside him, his fingers tapping away at a keypad fixed to the wall. If it weren’t for the unsavory circumstances at hand, Bossa would have requested a placement as far away from the other man as humanly possible. Crunched for personnel and pushed for time, however, neither had much of a choice in the matter. Mira’s direct orders were not to be mouthed back to. Shrike was to back up as many files as possible onto an external hard drive, wipe the Hereford server of any classified information, and extract any physical blueprints as he could. Bossa had been delegated to cover his back in the process, a task he found demeaning and rich with irony.
“You got that thing open yet?” Bossa broke the silence.
Shrike sighed, exasperated. The tapping sounds intensified in a fit of frustration. Bossa could hear the other man curse under his breath.
“I take that as a no.”
“I’m working on it.”
A spray of gunshots rang out, closer than the distant firefights that had melted into the background.
“Well, can you hurry up a little?” Bossa stiffened at the noise.
“I said I’m working on it.” Shrike hissed. “You have the patience of a child.”
“I kind of really don’t want to die today so-”
“Can you shut up?!”
Bossa ignored the other man, readjusting his arms as he swept the barrel from side to side. He sighed in relief at the beeping sound behind him.
“Sweep the room first. I’ll keep my eyes on this hallway.”
“I’m not stupid.” Shrike spit, rising to his feet and retrieving his rifle.
“I’m trusting you a lot right now.” Bossa said earnestly.
Shrike scoffed in response, putting the gun to his shoulder and pushing the door open. He peeked the corner, sweeping the room from right to left. Cautiously, he inched his way inside.
“Clear.” Shrike lowered his weapon and made his way to a computer terminal.
Bossa walked backward into the room, letting the door come to a close. He let the tension in his shoulders ease, taking a deep breath in the temporary shelter of the server room.
The air was frigid, and Bossa half expected to see his breath as he exhaled. The heavily insulated walls muffled the sounds of gunfire. He hadn’t had a moment to collect his thoughts since he’d been called to action, everything had happened so quickly.
There was an eerie calmness amongst the senior operators. Bossa wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, perhaps it was all a facade but there was really no telling. Trip had been calm too both times they’d been deployed. He wondered momentarily how his mentor would have handled the current predicament, then quickly chased the thought from his head. There were better things to focus his mental energy on at the moment, and no amount of hypothetical situations would bring Trip to his support.
“I need your assistance.” Shrike’s voice brought Bossa back to reality.
He hurried to the desk, joining the other man’s side, who then sighed and scooted away.
“I didn’t say to stand on top of me, did I?” Shrike grumbled.
“What do you want?” Bossa responded, unenthused.
“What is Nighthaven’s security clearance password?”
“Huh?”
“Are you stupid? Nighthaven’s password?” Shrike groaned at Bossa’s confused expression. “You know, the one that grants access to the server files?”
“I have no-”
“You understand English, do you not?” There was frustration in the other man’s voice. “You haven’t gotten a passkey from Kali?”
“N-”
“Kali? Osa? Ace, even?” Shrike flicked his hand dismissively at Bossa, sighing loudly before returning his attention to the terminal. “God, you’re useless.”
“In what world would I need access to the fucking server files?!”
“One where you’re a valued and trusted asset to your CTU, I suppose.” Shrike shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.” He interrupted as Bossa opened his mouth to respond. “Go collect blueprints for me. There’s a poster tube somewhere.”
Bossa furrowed his brow, trying his hardest to swallow down the rising anger in his chest. Shrike looked up from the computer and, despite the tinted visor blocking his view, Bossa could feel the other man’s eyes burning into his.
“Hello?” He snapped his fingers, stopping mid-motion to point a finger toward the far corner of the room. “Go fetch.”
“I’m not a dog, yeah?”
Shrike mumbled something in German and crossed his arms.
“Bossa, if you could puh-lease collect blueprints for me. There should be some in the filing cabinets in that corner.” Shrike motioned with a flick of his head. “There is a poster tube that you can put them in too, so your grubby, impecunious little hands don’t smudge the paper on the way out of this shithole.” He put both hands flat on the desk, tapping his fingers impatiently. “Bitte und danke.Go, run along now.”
Bossa holstered his rifle, letting the sling fall to his side, and stomped his way to the other side of the room. He flung one of the cabinets open and began digging into the stack of papers.
“Why are you such a dick to me all the time?” Bossa said out loud. “Like, literally all the time. I don’t do shit and you fucking hate me.”
Shrike didn’t so much as sniffle in response. Bossa felt even more frustrated. He rolled several large papers and stuffed them into a cylindrical plastic tube.
“And now they’ve got me here doing office work with you while Hereford is crumbling all around us.” Bossa laughed, exasperated. “If Trip was here, they could have paired someone else to deal with your bullshit.”
“Well, unfortunately, Trip is in the hospital because of-”
“Because of what, Shrike?” Bossa whipped his head up, staring his teammate down from across the room. “Are you going to finish the sentence?”
“...because of your incompetence.” Shrike raised his head defiantly. “Or at least that’s what it sounded like.”
Bossa sucked air through his teeth. Shrike continued typing, unbothered. Garbled, chaotic commands shouted over the radio juxtaposed the relative calmness of the server room. Anxiety crackled in the air as both men worked, the uncertainty of what would happen next apparent.
“Why did they pair us together anyway?” Bossa mumbled, half to himself, as he rummaged through papers. “You’d think Mira would know better than to send me off into this shit with the same guy who wants me dead.”
Bossa paused to glance up at Shrike, who was intently clicking around the computer screen. Then, he pushed the cabinet door shut and flung another drawer open beneath it.
“What are we supposed to do after this again?”
“Were you not paying attention the first time you were told?” Shrike shot back, his gaze still fixed on the screen before him. “We collect data here, wipe the servers, and get out.”
“Duh!” Bossa exclaimed. “I meant after we do all that. Are we supposed to call in…you know…one of the more experienced operators for an extraction assist?”
“Well,” Shrike paused, taking a moment to mull the question over. “So you weren’t paying attention?”
“You weren’t either, clearly.” Bossa retaliated. “I don’t think we were even given any further orders. Everyone is so stressed out I think that-”
“So we should make our way to the extraction point then.” Shrike interrupted matter of factly. “Why is this even a question?”
“Because I don’t want to die in here after getting Swiss-cheesed in a poorly lit stairwell, you feel me?” Bossa groaned. “Not to mention this is only my, what, third time doing something like this? You’ve never seen combat before. There are people out there far more experienced struggling with-”
“Are you questioning my ability?!”
“No, princess, what I’m saying is this isn’t the time to fuck around because-” Bossa sighed, dropping his hands to his sides and balling his fists. “Listen. Say what you want about me, or Trip, or whatever, but you can be doing everything right. Completely by the book, exactly like you’ve done a million times in training.” He took a deep breath, turning to face Shrike who had since looked up from his work. “This shit is real. Nobody out there cares that you’re so smart, and perfect, and important.”
“Okay, and?”
“You need to pull your head out of your ass and straighten the fuck up,” Bossa growled. “I don’t care what it takes for you to get through this with me, but I am not going to kill myself because you’re too proud to call for backup from our more experienced teammates.”
The tension between the pair was suffocating. They stared each other down wordlessly, the sounds of battle in the distance.
“Do you think I’m joking?” Bossa added.
“No, I just find it quite incredible that you’ve managed to make it this far.”
“You wanna elaborate on that?”
“I’m fine.” Shrike sniffed, his arms crossed. “I’m just shocked that you, of all people, are terrified of a walk down some stairs.”
“No, you moron! Is that really what you got from everything I just told you?!” Bossa felt like clawing his eyes out in frustration. “I’m not scared of shit! I don’t want to get shot again! I don’t want to die because you’re too busy having a dick-measuring contest with- with-” He couldn’t find the words to finish his thought, instead silently staring Shrike down, his face red with exasperation. “Is it me, huh? Is that why you’re acting like a fucking-”
“Yes, actually, it is because of you.” Shrike cut him off suddenly. “Since when were you qualified to make executive decisions? Your reputation precedes you, and clearly, your judgment is deplorable when it comes to high-stress combat situations.” He slammed a fist flat onto the table. “I’m not going to die because of your god awful decision making skills. If I leave it to you, you’ll have us both-”
“Oh yeah, and what qualifies you to be the one calling the shots?” Bossa interrupted. “How many times have you been shot at, Shrike?”
“I don’t need you projecting your mistakes onto my competence!”
“Yeah? And I don’t need you projecting your repressed feelings bullshit onto me!”
The room fell silent again, and the pair engaged in a staredown. Shrike’s posture was rigid and tense as he fidgeted with the flash drive in his hands.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not exactly subtle about it.” Bossa tossed the plastic poster tube from his hands and it landed just short of the desk, clunking to the floor with a dull thud.
Shrike looked at the poster tube at his feet, then up again at Bossa, then scoffed in disbelief.
“You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your head.”
“And then what? You somehow make it out of here alone? Through whatever’s going on out there?” Bossa rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your generosity.”
“You’re a loathsome individual, Bossa, and I despise every moment we’re stuck together.”
“Mmhm.”
“I don’t think of you as anything but an insolent little pest, a useless leech on Rainbow’s paycheck, and a waste of my time.”
“Okay.” Bossa’s eyes flicked from the tube on the ground, then up at Shrike, and back again. “Are you gonna pick that up so we can leave or…”
“Don’t you ever insinuate that I feel anything besides revulsion towards your existence.” Bossa couldn’t see Shrike’s eyes but could feel his icy glare burning him through his helmet visor. “I hate you, and you are nothing to me.”
“Whatever. Sounds like you must think of me lots if you have all these big words to describe how you feel.”
Bossa shrugged and took a step towards Shrike. The other man flinched, then quickly unholstered his rifle. Shakily, he pointed the barrel squarely at his teammate.
“What the fuck?” Bossa froze. “What are you doing?!”
“I’ll find my way out of here.” Despite the chill in his tone, Shrike’s voice still wavered. “I’m so sick of you constantly getting in my way.”
“So you’re going to kill me?!” Bossa shouted in disbelief. “Are you fucking crazy?”
Bossa reached for his pistol when an explosion rocked the building. Both men stumbled as the floor shook beneath them, then stared at each other, weapons lowered.
“IMMEDIATE…RAINBOW…PERSONNEL…EVACUATE…IMMEDIATE…RAINBOW…NNEL…ACU…”
The radio communications came through choppily and fizzed into static. Another explosion, this one louder, shook the building once more. Dust rained from the ceiling, the lights and electronics flickering and then booting up at once.
“We need to go.” Bossa snatched the poster tube from the ground and shoved it awkwardly into his utility belt, smacking the barrel of his teammate’s gun to the side as he turned towards the door. “Now.”
“I thought you didn’t-”
“We don’t have much of a choice now, do we?”
“But we weren’t able to finish-”
“Now, Shrike.” Bossa’s voice was uncharacteristically tense. “I’m not arguing with you. Come on.”
Shrike stared apprehensively as the other man approached the door, and then headed in his direction. Bossa positioned his MP5 to his shoulder once more, casting a glance over at Shrike to ensure he was following suit. He nodded at his teammate, then slowly opened the door.
The hallway was filled with a thick haze of smoke. Fire alarms blared from every direction and several overhead sprinklers sprayed cold water onto the floor. Bossa crept forward, peeking around a corner to the pair’s left, then retracting back behind the safety of the wall.
“There are three Keres soldiers at the end of this hallway.” Bossa’s voice was just barely audible over the chaos around them. “I’ll throw a SAMBA their way. It should give us just enough time to take care of them while they’re distracted.”
Shrike nodded his head silently, his hands firmly pressing his rifle to his shoulder.
“I stay low, you go high.” Bossa unclipped a SAMBA from his belt and turned to peek the corner once more.
He held the gadget up in his fist, frozen for just a moment before throwing it down the hall and retreating behind the wall. His eyes shut, he took a deep breath and silently counted down. Within seconds, confused shouts echoed down the hallway.
Bossa threw himself into the open, steadying himself on one knee as he gunned down one of the men. Bullet casings flew in the air, bouncing off the walls in the enclosed hallway. The sound of Shrike’s rifle firing just above his head caught Bossa by surprise.
One after the other, all three men fell limp to the ground. Bossa rose to his feet, turning to face Shrike.
“Nice shot.”
Shrike didn’t say anything in response, instead silently readjusting the position of his rifle. Bossa slowly headed down the hallway, his gun raised in anticipation. The pair stepped over the bodies at the end of the hall as they turned into a stairwell.
“We’re on the second floor. Keep an eye out behind us, and I’ll push forward.”
“How far are we from the extraction point?” Shrike’s voice was fraught with anxiety.
“I don’t know honestly. Our best bet is to head toward the helipads and push past as far as we can.”
“I understand, but how far are we from that?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“God you’re so-” Shrike stopped himself.
“Listen, let's get out of here first and then we can focus on killing each other, okay?” Bossa nodded. “Down the stairs, out the door, and our escape should be right ahead after that. Watch my six and I’ll do the same for you. Keep close to cover and we’ll make it out in one piece.”
Bossa tapped Shrike lightly on the shoulder with his fist, then turned back into the stairwell. Water from the sprinklers overhead cascaded down the steps and choking, acrid smoke hung heavy in the air. Carefully, the pair made their way to the first floor.
Shouts and gunfire from across the building echoed through crumbling infrastructure. Hanging pieces of the metal roof, suspended only by sparking wires and splintered wooden supports, dangled into the stairwell. Bossa tried not to think too hard about where the rest of his teammates were, especially Sens. He found comfort in the fact that they were with Doc and the rest of Wolfguard, but couldn’t help but wish they were with him and Shrike instead, away from the thick of the action.
“Wait-”
Bossa stopped, looking over his shoulder at his teammate. Shrike stood rigid, his gun raised and pointed up the stairs.
“Someone is following us,” Shrike whispered as quietly as he could. “I hear an extra set of footsteps.”
“We’re safer if they run into us out of this stairwell,” Bossa motioned with his head towards the final set of stairs. “Quickly, vamos.”
Bossa pushed ahead, pointing his gun around the corner of the stairwell exit. He exited quickly, keeping his body pressed against the wall. Shrike followed suit, his eyes fixed intently on the dark doorway as they exited.
“There’s some debris blocking the exit in front of us. If we take a right, we’ll-”
A sudden, earsplitting explosion shook the building once more. Bossa wasn’t sure where this one was, but it was certainly closer than the last two. Ears ringing and vision obscured by another plume of smoke and dust, Bossa leaned against the wall as he tried to reorient himself.
“This way,” He coughed, gesturing to the right with his head. “There’s a window we should be able to break through.”
“Ja,” Shrike nodded. “You first.”
Bossa didn’t hesitate to keep moving. He kicked at the remnants of a crumbling concrete wall and flicked on the flashlight fixed to the scope of his MP5. The room was dark, the table and chairs in the middle of it crushed by a slab of fallen concrete. The ceiling above them was half open, the other half visibly deteriorating and falling in chunks to the floor below. Rays of light filtered through what looked like an attempt to barricade the window. Bossa swept the gun from side to side, squinting into the dark and smoke.
“I don’t think anyone is in here.” He whispered. “The ceiling’s caved in.”
“You don’t think or you know there’s nobody in there?”
“It’s hard to tell.” Bossa pulled back against the wall. “I feel like if somebody was in there, they would have shot at us by now?”
“Well…I guess…”
The two spent a moment silently contemplating. Bossa took a deep breath, peeked into the room again, and took a hesitant step forward. He tensed his body, anticipating the familiar feeling of searing pain. Nothing. He took a deep breath and moved forward again, this time towards the window.
“Help me get this open.” Bossa began pulling at the makeshift barricade, letting his rifle sling to his side.
Shrike joined him, pulling at the rotted boards and cursing at the rusted nails as they caught on his gloves. Without much struggle, the barricade detached the window frame and promptly fell apart as it hit the ground. Light blotted out by rain and smoke illuminated the room.
“Do you want to go first?” Bossa asked, using the butt of his rifle to smash the glass. “Or do you want me to lead the way?”
“Wouldn’t it make the most sense if-”
“Stay right there.”
Shrike and Bossa froze. The voice didn’t belong to anyone they could identify. Slowly, the pair turned around. Two men with Keres masks stood in the entryway, their guns drawn.
“Give us the server files.” One of the men growled, gesturing with his gun.
“The what?” Bossa feigned ignorance.
“We’ve been tracking you since you left the server room. Don’t play stupid with us.” The man’s voice was deep and oppressive. “Now. Give us the server files.”
“Or what?”
“Bossa-”
“No. Why didn’t you guys just kill us?” Bossa’s eyes darted around the room, trying desperately to locate a solution to their situation. “We’re trapped here now so it doesn’t really matter. So why-”
“Shut up!” The man barked. “We’re taking this one back with us. He’s more valuable to us alive.”
The man gestured at Shrike. Bossa scoffed, eying up the man and then looking at Shrike.
“This guy?” Bossa waved his hand. “You don’t want him. You’ll return him the minute he opens his mouth.”
“I’m not asking you again, give us the-”
“Or what though, you can’t kill us so I mean-”
The man fired a warning shot. Bossa froze as the bullet whizzed past his head, splitting the space between him and Shrike.
“Alright, alright.” He put his hands up, chuckling nervously. “We’ll give you what you want. Am I throwing this at you? Putting it on the floor? How do you-”
“Now!”
“Okay,” Bossa fumbled with his belt, removing the poster tube and turning to Shrike. “Shrike, my favorite teammate, may I have your flash drive pretty please?”
Bossa held his hand out, which Shrike stared at silently. He pulled the flash drive from his chest rig and placed it into his teammate's palm.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Shrike hissed quietly.
Bossa sneakily flicked his eyes from Shrike’s gun, and then towards the men. He turned back around, the flash drive in one hand and the poster tube in the other, both raised above his head.
“Alright. I’m gonna walk these over now.” Bossa slowly headed their way.
Both men watched him intently, their guns trained on his every move. He stopped just before them, his hands still raised.
“On the ground.” The man ordered.
“Wait, before you guys kill us or whatever, can I ask you a question?”
The men stared, dumbfounded. Bossa shrugged.
“Alright, so when I put these on the ground, right?” Bossa set the items on the ground and let both arms fall to his side before taking a step back. “There’s a flash drive, some bullshit in a tube, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the other thing because I’m not very technologically literate but-”
There was a sudden high-pitched shrieking over the comms system. The men cringed, clawing at their headsets. Shrike yelled out loud. Bossa whipped his rifle from his side, aiming at the main and opening fire. He groaned, desperately fumbling with his rifle with shaky hands and falling to the ground.
Bossa turned to the other man, swiping his feet from beneath him and knocking him to the ground. Shrike’s rifle rang out from the other side of the room, and the other man went limp. Quickly, Bossa grabbed the poster tube and flash drive from the ground and made his way to the window.
“Let's get the fuck out of here.” His voice shook as he tucked the tube back into his belt and pushed the flash drive into Shrike’s hands. “We’ve got a target on us now so,” He hoisted himself through the window and dropped to the ground, quickly wielding his gun into position. “Come on.”
“What the fuck was that?!” Shrike grated as he followed suit. “Were you trying to get us killed?!”
“Nah. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s hostage negotiation.” Bossa pressed himself against the wall. “These guys are extra dense, we were never in any real danger.”
“Real danger? As opposed to fake danger?” Shrike scoffed. “You’re deranged.”
“Yeah, well, we’re both still alive so I’d say I did a pretty good job.”
“Good job?”
“Thanks.”
“No you psychopath, if that’s a job well done then-”
The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps stopped the pair in their tracks. A concrete wall covered them on one side, and the building shielded them on the other. Just steps from turning the corner, Bossa braced himself for whatever was coming next.
A Keres soldier rounded the corner, a handgun drawn. In a split second, Bossa threw his elbow into the man’s face, wrestling the gun from his hand. It clattered to the ground somewhere. Shrike yelled out behind him, which Bossa could only assume meant their adversary had brought backup.
Striking his palm into the man’s chin, Bossa swiftly brought his knee to the man’s stomach. The man groaned, stumbling back before taking a messy swing at Bossa. Bossa ducked, throwing a weighty punch back. His fist connected with the man’s face, knocking his mask off. The pair locked eyes, and Bossa furrowed his brow, yelling out in frustration.
“Fuck off!” He threw another punch, this one landing hard against the side of the man’s head.
The man stumbled again, this time tripping over himself and falling to the ground. Bossa pulled his pistol from its holster and aimed it at the man beneath him. The man stared back, eyes wide. Bossa took a shaky breath, trying his hardest to steady his aim, then squeezed the trigger. The man soundlessly went limp, eyes still wide, blood spattering the ground beneath him.
There was no time to regain composure. Bossa turned his attention towards his teammate, who was struggling beneath the weight of a second man. The man was armed with only a knife, which Shrike held back with both hands. Without thinking twice, Bossa fired his gun again, and the man quickly crumpled, falling dead weight atop his teammate.
He hurried to Shrike’s side, straining to push the man onto the ground. Shrike breathed hard, his hands shaking.
“You good?” Bossa held his hand out.
Shrike didn’t reach out, nor did he respond. His breath caught in his throat and it sounded like he was struggling to breathe. He held his hand to his abdomen, just below his chest. Blood pooled from beneath it, shimmering in the sunlight.
"You’re hurt.” Bossa felt his eyes glaze over, pushing memories from his past two excursions from his mind. “Can you walk? We need to move.”
Shrike tried to respond, his words coming out as strings of gibberish. It sounded like he was gasping for air from beneath his helmet. Bossa bit the inside of his cheek.
“Here, take your helmet off so you can breathe. I can he-”
“No!” Shrike swatted Bossa’s hand away, his chest heaving.
Bossa looked around nervously, the sound of a far-off explosion echoing off the concrete walls. The ground rumbled beneath them, sending gravel careening down the side of the building.
“You need to let me look at it.”
“No-”
“Shrike, I don’t know the extent of your injuries and we need to leave,” Bossa said matter of factly. “If you’re in decent enough shape to get a move on, we really need to be doing that before this place blows.”
Bossa knelt beside his teammate and reached out. Shrike recoiled.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” He hissed.
“How the fuck am I supposed to administer first aid if you won’t let me touch you?!” Bossa was losing his patience.
“I’d rather succumb to my injuries than die at the hands of your incompetence!” Shrike spit through his teeth.
Bossa rolled his eyes so hard he swore he could see the inside of his head. He glared down at the other man. His injuries weren’t so bad that he was dying, clearly.
“Take your helmet off and breathe. Just trust me. We’ve gotten this far.”
Shrike stared back at him, still breathing hard. He put his hands on his helmet and hesitated before pulling it off. His eyes were red and puffy, his hair stuck down with sweat. The fabric of Shrike’s uniform was sliced open just beneath his chest rig. Bossa winced.
“Can I look?”
“I don’t care-” Shrike’s voice caught in his throat.
Bossa pulled the fabric aside, revealing a gash across the man’s abdomen.
“He got you good.” Bossa grimaced. “But you should be okay, at least until we get to safety.”
“How do you know that?” Shrike’s voice sounded uncharacteristically juvenile.
“It doesn’t look deep enough and, I’ve uh…” Bossa sat up on his knees. “I’ve seen worse.”
Shrike grimaced as he tried to sit up and Bossa hopped to his feet. He extended a hand, helping to pull his teammate up. Shrike stood on wobbly legs, and Bossa picked his helmet up from the ground, handing it to him wordlessly.
An explosion shook the ground once more, followed by the sound of crumbling concrete. A second explosion rang out, and Bossa quickly turned to his teammate.
“We’re almost there.” He said firmly. “We need to run or we’ll be crushed here. I believe in you. It’ll be over soon.”
Shrike nodded, putting his helmet back on and readying his weapon. Bossa did the same, pressing his rifle to his shoulder.
“Alright.” Bossa exhaled. “Now follow my lead.”